


The Past Is a Different Country

by randi2204



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy interrupts a ritual that some demons are performing, and gets caught up in its time-travel effects. She ends up in the past, and meets a man…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [tibialisant](http://tibialisant.livejournal.com/profile) for the Art/Fic Exchange at [nekid_spike](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/profile).
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. I’m just playing in their sandbox.

The world resolved into solidity around her, and Buffy was somewhere else.

She froze, trying to get her bearings, and was immediately jostled by someone bumping into her from behind.

“Oi, watch it!” a rough voice growled.

“Sorry,” she replied, purely in reflex, and tried to move out of the way.  Except she chose the wrong way, and nearly stumbled off the edge of the curb into the street.  Only her reflexes saved her from falling, and an instant later, she had her back pressed against the relative comfort of a wall, trying to take in air and failing.

 _Oh, God, what’s happening?_ she thought wildly, and dug her fingers into the brick and mortar behind her, as if scrabbling for purchase on her sanity.  She relaxed only a very little bit on discovering she was solid again.  While she’d been fighting, she’d gone all ghost-y, her punches and kicks not so much connecting as phasing through.  It was just nice to feel the reassuring weight of the wall at her back and _not_ have to worry about falling through it.

There were too many things to notice all at once – something cloth-like swishing around her legs and ankles, the constriction around her chest and stomach, the pull against the delicate skin behind her ears…

The way that the close Sunnydale alley she’d been fighting in only moments ago had suddenly transformed itself into this strange street.

 _I’m not going crazy,_ she told herself, glancing up and down the street with wide eyes.  _I’m_ not _going crazy…_

A glance down at herself made her try to breathe even harder.  She was wearing a long dress of a kind that she could only associate with Civil War mini-series; miles and miles of fabric, long sleeves swathing her from neck to wrists, and even there it didn’t end, as she was wearing gloves, too.  A cloth bag or purse dangled from one wrist by its drawstring closure.  Exploring further, she laid a hand on her side, and felt a ridge of some kind beneath her fingers, then another, an inch or so apart from the first.  She pressed on them more firmly, and they dug into her flesh and ribs. _Okay, that’s what’s keeping me from breathing,_ she thought, _but why am I wearing these weird clothes in the first place? Calm down, Buffy.  You’ll probably pass out if you panic any more, because you can’t breathe because you’re wearing this torture device…_ Thwarted once again on taking a deep breath, she resorted to shallow little ones, and those seemed to work better.  _Even if it feels like I’m hyperventilating…_

Breathing again made her feel a little less frantic, and a little more conscious that she might be watched.  Casually, she reached up, as if to brush a wayward strand of hair back.  Her hair was pulled up and back, into an intricate knot on the back of her head.  Perched on top of her head was a hat of some kind; she could just make out the shape of it with her gloved fingers.

Having determined the extent of the changes to her wardrobe didn’t make her any happier or less confused. _I want my leather jacket and my jeans and my boots… where did they go? Where am I?_

That made her look around.  The street in front of her wasn’t wide, not as wide as the streets she was familiar with in Sunnydale.  But it was _old_ ; if it was Sunnydale at all, it was an _old_ Sunnydale.  The street wasn’t smooth with blacktop, it was covered with stones as big as both her fists, all packed close together. A horse was pulling a buggy or cart or something, and she could hear the ‘clip-clop’ of its hooves against the stones.

It was night, and it felt like the hour was late.  When Buffy glanced up at the sky, searching for the moon or some other indication of the time, it was hazy, veiled by the smoke she could see drifting from chimneys all around.

Considering the number of people still walking about, though, she decided it might not be as late as she thought.  The guy with the horse and cart had disappeared down the street, and there were other men walking about, in heavy trousers and worn coats.  They walked quickly, with purpose, as if they had somewhere to be and didn’t want to linger.  There were even a few women, too, in dresses similar to her own.

 _Okay, so.  It looks like sometime in the 1800’s.  I don’t want to_ be _in the 1800’s.  I want to be in the year 2000, back where I came from!  Giles, you can figure out what happened and bring me home any second now._   Buffy swallowed heavily, as the thought of her Watcher – and her friends and mother and all the things that were familiar – made tears threaten. Despite the way her eyes burned, she lifted her chin, pulling up all the Slayer resolve she could find.  _All I have to do is wait until Giles breaks this spell or whatever it is.  I only have to wait a little while and then I’ll be home again._   She forgot that she couldn’t take a deep breath, and was reminded when that thing with the ridges under her dress prevented her.

It also prevented her heartfelt sigh.  _I guess I’m stuck here – wherever here is – for now.  I suppose I’d better figure out where I am._   Looking both ways, not wanting to bump into another grouchy passer-by, she stepped away from the building and closer to the street, looking for someone to ask, and hoping she wasn’t risking mortal embarrassment.

Walking away from her down the street was a tall man with broad shoulders.  He was not wearing a hat, and his hair was long and loose, flowing over the collar of his coat.  He had one arm around the shoulders of a woman not much taller than Buffy herself.  Walking beside them was another, taller woman, dark hair flowing down her back in fat curls.

They looked respectable – well, it looked like they were better dressed than most of the men she saw walking alone, anyway.  Something about them made her pause, though, and she stared at them, frowning.  _What is it about them?_ she asked herself.  _There’s something strange…_

Just as she was about to take a step toward them and ask them to tell her where she was, she became aware of another man approaching.  He stormed along the street, head bent, hands twisting furiously in front of him.  Unlike the other men she could see, he wasn’t wearing an overcoat, just what she considered his suit jacket.  He crashed into the man with the wide shoulders, and staggered back a few steps, being both shorter and more slightly built.  Scraps of paper fluttered from the smaller man’s fingers, and he stooped to pick them up.  “Watch where you’re going!” he burst out, his voice harsh with some fierce emotion.

The tall man brushed past him without a word, seemingly without even noticing him, as did the woman he held.  The dark-haired woman paused, glancing over her shoulder as the slight man continued his uneven path down the street.

Buffy saw her face then, and her frown deepened.  _She reminds me of someone… and so do the others…Who?_

Then the tall man turned around, and she had to struggle to contain her gasp, her hand rising to cover her mouth.  _Angel…_ Then, seeing the cruel twist of his mouth, and suddenly recognizing the women with him, she corrected herself.  _No, not Angel._ Angelus _… and… and Darla and Drusilla.  I’ve been sent back in time.  This must be before he got his soul.  I can’t tell for timeframes, but it_ must _be before.  No way would he be with_ them _if he had it._   She dropped her hand, fingers twitching.  She didn’t even have a stake.  _I can’t take all three of them,_ she thought, _especially with no weapons…_

Suddenly, the truth of what she had just thought struck her, and for a second, she felt like she was going to be sick.  _Angel… I can’t kill_ Angel _…_

Drusilla was still standing in the middle of the street, and she and Angel – _Angelus_ – and Darla were watching the man’s progress.

“Or you could just take the first drooling idiot who comes along,” Darla said, one eyebrow arched and wearing an unpleasant smirk, carrying on some prior conversation that Buffy hadn’t been able to hear.  Then she and Angelus walked on, leaving Drusilla alone.

Buffy heard Angelus rumble something, to which Darla replied softly, but her eyes were on Drusilla.  _I wonder where Spike is,_ she thought absently.  _He never used to be very far away from the crazy ho’._   Then she shook her head.  _As if it isn’t enough to have just the three of them here!  I don’t have to go looking for more trouble. And Spike is_ definitely _trouble._

Except he wasn’t; at least, not any more.  Back home, whatever had been done to him had taken the bite right out of him.  He still mouthed off, because there didn’t seem to be any way to stop _that_ , but there was nothing behind it now.  He was a pain in the butt, but now he was just a harmless pain.

And she did her best to hide it beneath her usual self-righteous attitude and bitchiness, but there were times she almost felt sorry for him.  Almost.  Of course, every time she caught herself feeling that way, she reminded herself of the hundreds and thousands of people he’d killed, and always ended by thinking, _It’s better this way, because at least he’s not snacking on the populace…_

 _Isn’t it?_

Sometimes, though – and it was something that she’d _never_ admit, even under pain and torture of the worst kind – she missed the thrill of fighting him, because he was the only one who gave as good as he got, the only one she hadn’t really beaten, in the _now fits into an ashtray_ sense. 

Her attention sharpened immediately when Drusilla started to drift in the direction the man had taken, murmuring softly, something about knights and wise men.  Buffy rolled her eyes at the crazy one’s crazy ramblings, but stepped off the curb to follow her.

She caught up with Drusilla just as she reached the narrow alley the man had entered.  _I still don’t have a weapon,_ she fretted, casting about a little desperately, looking for something to use.  But there wasn’t anything, not even a scrap of wood for a makeshift stake.  _Wacky chick is about to go in and eat that guy, and he’s just an innocent, he’s got no idea what’s coming, and he_ so _doesn’t deserve it, and damn it, I’ve got to_ save him _…_

 _Maybe I can fake her out?_ She calmed down a little at that thought.  Surely she could outthink the crazy vampire.  “Darling!” she called, lifting up her skirts to hurry the rest of the way down the street.  “There you are!”

Drusilla stopped at the sound of her voice, which was all of the good, and spun around to stare at her.

Buffy ignored the vampire’s eyes, remembering with no small bitterness what she had done to Kendra, and instead peeked into the alley.  The man sat on a crate at the very end where it abutted against another building, having effectively trapped himself.  She shook her head, forcing a smile.  “He’s always doing this,” she said, as if in confidence.  “He’s just a little cracked, but I still…”

“He’s not for you, Slayer!” Drusilla hissed, and Buffy startled at the sound.  “Tripping and tumbling your way back through time to snare him… no, he’s to be _my_ knight!” Her hands crept up to fist in her hair, snarling the perfect curls. “Dust and ashes and pain, that’s all your love will bring…”

 _Right,_ Buffy thought, tamping down her surprise and confusion and covering with one of her patented eye-rolls.  _Of course,_ now _I remember that Dru is not only crazy, she can see the future._   She risked a glance at the vampire’s face, saw her pretty human features twisted with rage.  “You are _not_ going to kill him,” she stated, her tone slow and even.  “Not while I’m here.”

Drusilla laughed then, and Buffy shivered, for she’d never truly heard the sound of madness in laughter before.  “Doesn’t matter,” she said around her giggles, and her accent was even thicker than Spike’s.  She unwound her hands from her hair to point at Buffy, who quickly averted her eyes.  “Doesn’t matter now, future-Slayer.  The knight can only ever have one princess.  Even when you’re not here anymore, you’ll still be here.”  With that, she twirled around, skirts flaring about her, and hurried back in the direction from which she’d come.

Slowly, Buffy relaxed from the tense battle stance she’d assumed.  _And the crazy goes on,_ she thought.  _Wish I could have dusted her, but then I’d have all the rest of them to deal with.  I’m just glad I saved this guy before she could get to him…_

 _Uh-oh._ A thought struck her and she paused before entering the alley.  _Wait a minute.  Maybe I’ve changed things… Oh, no, this is just like that movie that Xander likes, where the kid changes the past and almost cuts off his own existence.  What if I start to fade away?_

She shook her head, dismissing the possibility.  _I don’t know whether I’ve changed anything or not, and I just can’t keep second-guessing myself while I’m stuck here.  Maybe someone else warned Dru off and this guy is supposed to be saved, and I just did it instead.  That’s okay, right?  Besides, I don’t think there’s anything I could do now in the 1800’s that would change my entire existence…_

She stepped into the alley, senses alert in case Drusilla decided to return.  _Wouldn’t put it past her… after all, she’s nutso._

The man she’d just saved was still sitting on the crate, tearing the bits of paper he held into smaller and smaller pieces.  At last he stopped, and just stared down at his hands.  His shoulders shook a little as he did.  Seeing that, Buffy realized that he was crying, and felt a pang of compassion for him.  _Poor guy... I wonder what happened?_

He never even noticed her approach, so intent was he on whatever had made him so upset.  She took the opportunity to study him in what little light reached into the alley from the street.  His hair was kind of a sandy blond, waving with unruly curls.  He had long fingers, slim and graceful as they clenched on the scraps of paper.  His head was bent, his face thrown in shadow, so Buffy couldn’t make out his features.

“Hey,” she called softly, while still some distance away, trying to get his attention.  “Are you all right?”

The man jumped, startled by the sound of her voice, and raised his head.  She could see the tears streaking his cheeks, his eyes brilliant blue and filled with pain behind his glasses.  “I’m fine,” he said shortly, and looked away, as if trying to hide.  “I just wish to be alone.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully.  _He looks like someone I know.  I_ know _he does…_

“You can’t stay here,” she said, putting all the patience she could muster into her tone.  “ _I_ can’t stay here, either.”

She hadn’t intended him to hear that, had muttered it under her breath, but he faced her again, glaring just a little.  “I’m not keeping you here, Miss…” He fumbled for a moment, as if it had just struck him that she was a stranger.  Then his scowl lifted slightly, becoming puzzled. “And, indeed, what are you doing out alone?”

 _He’s got an accent… sounds kind of like Giles’s,_ she thought a bit irrelevantly, her mind whirling to come up with some plausible excuse.  _I think I’m in England._   “I was… out.  Walking,” she added quickly, as his frown returned.  She wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands, clasping them in front of her, then behind, feeling the purse bump against her leg as she moved.   “I needed some air, so I went for a walk, and now I don’t know where I am.  I’m not from around here,” she finished, raising her eyes to him in what she hoped was a winsome look.

It seemed to work.  He appeared to gather himself, then stood up, and gave her a short bow and a polite little smile that wobbled only a bit.  As an afterthought, he swiped away the tracks of his tears with the heel of one hand, which she pretended not to see.  “William Pratt, at your service, Miss…” He looked at her expectantly, eyebrows raised.

“Summers,” she said without thinking, distracted more than a little by the wave of familiarity that swamped her again.  She managed a smile through her confusion.  “Buffy Summers.”

For just a moment, his smile widened and was genuine.  “How do you do, Miss Summers?”

“Very well, thank you, Mister Pratt,” she replied, grinning and bobbing a slight curtsey.  _Grandma couldn’t have known that I really_ would _need to know when she taught me how to respond to that.  But hey, it worked!  Go, Grandma!_

“Where are you staying whilst you are here in London?” William asked, and just _how_ did a man manage to look so shy?  He was kind of peeking at her over the top of his glasses, through a few wayward strands of hair that fell over his forehead.  _He’s kind of like a cute little puppy,_ she thought, and her smile softened and warmed.  At the sight of her smile, he blushed and glanced away.  “I-I’ll escort you back,” he stammered.  “It would never do for you to be… accosted.”

 _Oh, damn,_ Buffy thought, _he’s got no idea I can take care of myself better than he can.  And what if Dru comes back when he’s on his way home alone? And… hey, just where_ am _I going to stay while I’m here?  And how am I going to_ pay _for it?_

“Miss Summers?”  Now he was frowning at her a little, brow quirked in worry.

In a flash, Buffy decided the course it seemed she would have to take.  _I am_ so _not the damsel-in-distress, but if I’m going to make sure he gets home safe, I suppose I’m gonna have to do some damsel-ing.  Drusilla will probably lose interest, since he wasn’t so easy to catch as she thought, and after that I can focus on getting home._   When she met William’s gaze once again, she allowed tears to well up in her eyes.  “I… I got so lost… I don’t even know what direction to take to get there.  Would it be all right for me to maybe stay with you tonight?” Then, catching sight of his nearly horrified look, she remembered again that she wasn’t in her own time.  _And asking to stay over is probably not done_ at all _in these times…_ She rushed on, “I mean, I don’t mean _with you_ , obviously, I just mean on your sofa or… and only if it’s no trouble, I don’t want to put you out…”  She bit her lip, putting a purposeful stop to her rambling.  _Please don’t ask me the name of the hotel, please, please, please…_

William’s cheeks were flushed, and he wouldn’t – _or maybe couldn’t?_ she thought – look at her when he replied.  “This is quite improper, Miss Summers.  I’m not at all sure how things are done where you are from, but…”

“Please?  Just for one night, I promise, and I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow…” Not sure it would help at this point, she intensified her pleading look.

He sighed.  “Very well, Miss Summers.  I do hope Mother is not too scandalized by this,” he muttered. 

Relieved, Buffy gave him her brightest smile.  “Thank you, Wi – Mister Pratt.”

The color in his cheeks grew even brighter, and in a very Giles-like move, he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and quickly wiped his glasses.  He replaced them carefully, and seemed surprised to find her watching him.  He forced another polite smile and tilted his head, offering her his arm.  A little mechanically, she took it, and allowed him to lead her from the alley.

For in that instant where he was not wearing his glasses, it was blindingly clear to Buffy of just who William reminded her.  The knowledge drained all the blood from her face and knocked her breathless.  _Oh, my God,_ she thought, stunned. _I can’t believe I didn’t see it before…_

William was Spike.

***

“Willow, are you quite sure that these are the demons that Buffy was fighting?”  Giles’s hands trembled just a little as he picked up the book again.

“Yes, Giles,” Willow replied, her eyes wide and solemn.  “That’s them.”

“Ugly and horny,” Xander added, then winced.  “Lotsa horns, I mean.  G-man…  What did they do with her?”

“Were they engaged in a-a ritual?”

“That’s how it looked… there was four of them in like a square… maybe standing at the four points of the compass?  And another one in the center.  He had a knife.  They were all chanting… so, yeah, ritual in the making.  Giles… Buffy… she just _disappeared!_ ”

“Oh, dear.”  Giles took off his glasses, rubbed his forehead with his free hand.  Things were rapidly progressing from bad to worse.  “No, she didn’t disappear.”

“Yes, she did!” Xander and Willow exclaimed in angry unison.

“Poof!” Willow’s fingers fluttered, miming an explosion.  “No Buffy anywhere!”

Giles sank heavily into his seat, still holding his glasses.  “No, I mean… she-she’s been sent traveling through time.”

The children were silent for a moment.  “Through… time?” Willow asked, her voice small.

Xander brightened a little.  “Like in _Back to the Future_? I mean… just not in a DeLorean.  Going back in time because of a funky ritual-y mistake?”

Giles sighed, the headache throbbing right behind his eyes.  “Without having seen the popular culture tripe to which you refer, I would imagine so, yes.”

“So… how do we bring her back?”  Willow was looking at him as if he had all the answers.

This time, though, he hadn’t.  The demons that Buffy had disturbed were known for their limited passage through time and space, but not much had been written about them otherwise.  It was always possible that the ritual they had been performing hadn’t yet reached the power necessary to propel Buffy too far from the here and now... but the fact that his Slayer hadn’t yet joined them disproved that.

“I’m not entirely certain,” he responded quietly.  “While the ritual was doubtless geared to send one of their number through time, we don’t know to where, or even what year.  Moreover, Buffy interrupted them before they were finished.  There’s absolutely no way to predict how that would affect the time vortex already gathered, and it could have dropped her far from the demons’ intended destination.”

“Giles…” Willow paused, as if regaining control over her voice, then went on, sounding forlorn.  “Are you saying we’ll never get Buffy back?”

He looked up then, saw twin looks full of fear from Buffy’s friends.  “No,” he said, with as much conviction as he could manage, and put his glasses back on.  “I’m not saying that at all.  But it might be a while before she returns, either with or without our help.” He gestured at the books already out on his table.  “We should start looking for some way to at least find out where – and when – she is.  The sooner we can find something, the less time she’ll be… there and then, and the less likely it is she’ll do something to drastically change the past.”

Willow reached for the book nearest her and opened it.  “Is it?  I mean, likely?”

Giles started flipping through the book he had taken from Willow, hoping there would be some other reference listed.  “Just by her presence, Buffy has already changed the past, but in only a small way, I should think.  Hopefully, however, wherever and whenever she’s ended up, she will realize that her actions will change the past – or rather, the future, as it would be for her.”

“What’s the worst case scenario, here?” Xander asked, and Giles was surprised to see that the boy was serious.  “I mean, aside from not getting Buff back with us?”

He looked down at the pages without seeing a word.  “They are too numerous and horrible to contemplate,” he replied softly, “and could range from negating her own existence to the complete destruction of the world.”

Xander blanched, and had to work to swallow.  “So, that’d be bad, then.”

Giles shook his head and forced himself to focus on the words in front of him.  “In all likelihood, we wouldn’t even notice.  The past is just the past, and we wouldn’t even know that something had changed, because, to us, it would have always been that way.”

Quiet reigned for some time, broken only but the whisper of pages turning.

“Can this be Spike’s fault?” Xander asked, breaking the silence and making Giles and Willow jump in their seats.  “I mean, can’t he be like the designated scapegoat?  If anything goes wrong, it can always just be Spike’s fault…”

“Xander,” Willow admonished.  “It can’t be Spike’s fault.  He can’t _do_ bad things like that now.”  She tapped her pencil on the table a couple times.  “Besides, he wasn’t even there.”

Giles ignored their conversation, engrossed in his research.  He compared his copious notes to the book in front of him.  _Interrogate Spike_ was one of the items on his list, with a list of questions regarding the demons that Willow had identified.

He frowned.  “Who is Spike?” he asked, bemused.

Even as he spoke, the words faded off the page into nothingness.

Willow and Xander blinked at him in confusion.  “What did you say, Giles?” Willow inquired, one finger marking her place in her book.

Giles opened his mouth to speak… then closed it again and shook his head.  “I’m not sure now.  It must not have been important.”  He resumed reading and taking notes, anxious to get his Slayer back where and when she truly belonged.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken Buffy a long time to fall asleep; things _rustled_ whenever she moved, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how she had completely _screwed_ with history.  _I didn’t mean it!_ she thought over and over, _I just thought I was saving some guy!_   Eventually, the mantra had dulled into sleep, though she’d dreamed of Drusilla attacking William, and of Angelus attacking her, of Spike as she had known him just disappearing into nothing.

She woke earlier than she normally did without the help of an alarm clock, partly because the bed still felt strange, and partly because she could hear strange voices and movement outside her door.  Before they could come in and find her still in bed, she got up, and quickly straightened the bed, because, as embarrassed as she would be by getting caught next to naked, somehow it felt too rude to leave the bed in disarray.  Then she headed straight for the clothing she’d draped over a convenient chair.  She had slept in a thin kind of under-dress, after peeling off all of the other layers she’d been wearing, but she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone seeing her in just _that._

 _Uh-oh._   She surveyed the jumble of cloth heaped on the chair.  _I can’t remember what I took off last!  Okay, deep breaths, Buffy.  You can figure it out.  It’s just clothes, after all, and clothes are your forte… well, after Slaying, that is.  So… okay, here’s some stockings… Man, I wish I could have a shower…_

She managed to get herself into some of the articles she’d taken off the night before, leaving the corset on the chair, but then the buttons on the bodice of her dress wouldn’t cooperate.  The fabric wouldn’t stretch enough so she could button it, or the buttons strained against the holes if she could.  Heaving a sigh, she glared at the corset.  “I _so_ don’t want to wear you,” she told it, her tone resigned. “But I guess I have to.” 

Just then, there was a knock on the door.  “Miss?” a woman’s voice called.  “Miss?”

Half out of her dress again, Buffy froze, and she could feel the blush rise to heat her cheeks.  Quickly, she laid the dress over the chair once more and fought with the corset until she had it on, if not laced.

The knock came again.  “Miss?  Are you…”

With one more deep breath – _the last of the day_ , she thought – Buffy steeled herself.  “Come in,” she answered.

Somehow, she convinced the maid that entered that she only needed her corset tightened a little, so that breathing wasn’t quite so much of a trial – just enough so that the buttons weren’t straining. The maid helped – in the completely unnecessary way – her finish getting dressed, then offered to help her do her hair.

Buffy blinked.  Except when she went to the hairdresser, she’d been doing her own hair for years.  _Okay, so, not so much styling most of the time, but I think I look presentable,_ she thought, vaguely offended.  Reaching up to run her fingers through her hair, she realized that, in her upset at being found in just the shift, she hadn’t even thought about dragging a comb across her head.  _Not to mention that a ponytail probably isn’t appropriate_ , she thought, sighing silently.  “All right,” she said, reluctantly, and perched carefully on the edge of the chair at the small vanity.

Back in Sunnydale, she had started to grow her hair out, but it still didn’t look very long in the maid’s hands.  However, before too much time had passed, her hair was swept up in a style very similar to the one she had worn the night before, and all of the pins she’d taken out before collapsing onto the bed were back in her hair.  It was quite a transformation to watch – and feel – and she appreciated the maid’s kindness.  “Thank you,” she said when it was done, smiling up at the girl.

But the girl just nodded, not smiling back.  “Breakfast will be ready shortly, Miss.  Mrs. Pratt is in the drawing room downstairs.”

Before Buffy could thank her again, the maid had left, closing the door softly behind her.

 _Huh,_ she thought, a small frown forming.  _What did I do?_   Slowly she rose from the chair.  Her purse still sat on the vanity where she’d put it the night before, and absently, she picked it up.

There was something in it.  It crinkled under her fingers, and she didn’t recall that it had done that last night.  _Face it, Buffy, you were so freaked last night that you probably didn’t notice,_ she thought, and snorted softly.  She opened it and pulled out some sheets of folded paper, and – her eyes widened – a couple of heavy coins that looked like… _Whoa… is that_ gold?

Quickly, she stuffed the coins back into the purse.  At that moment her stomach reminded her that it had been a full night of dancing and Slaying and even some not-Slaying, and supper had been a _long_ time ago.  _She said breakfast would be in a little while,_ she thought, looking from the papers to the door.  _Do I have time?_

A second, louder rumble decided her.  _I can read while I walk downstairs, I guess.  And I need to thank Mrs. Pratt, too… and Spike – I mean William…_ Carefully unfolding the papers, she opened the door.

The first piece was a written receipt from some place called Bailey’s.  _Oh, it says lodging,_ Buffy thought, mentally sagging in relief as she slowly made her way down the stairs.  _Must be a hotel! That’s of the good…_

The next paper brought her to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.  _It’s addressed to me…_

 _Slayer,_

 _You interrupted our ritual, and in so doing, you were bound by our magics.  You were removed to the past, in the same general area and time we wished to see.  However, you must find the truth of your own way back, as we cannot help you any more than this._

 _You have lodging for 1 month, and the coin of the time.  Use caution, however, as it is not real, and will disappear from those to whom you give it after you return to your own time._

 _Our magics erase us from the memories of those with whom we interact, especially the memories of any humans.  However, as you are human yourself, we are not sure if this aspect will work for you.  Again, we urge you to be careful.  Changing your history could be disastrous._

 _Whatever you do may have repercussions.  The sojourns of our kind in other times are limited in nature, but, again, because you interrupted our ritual before it was complete, we are not sure how long you may stay in the past before you are unable to return…_

Buffy stopped reading.  “What do you mean, unable to return?” she whispered, staring down at the page.  “No.  No way!  I’ve got to get home…” With an effort, she remembered to keep her voice low.  _Well, that’s just great,_ she thought, and stuffed the papers back into the small bag.  _Now I’ve got to figure out how to get home all by myself_ and _I’ve got a time limit!_

Confused, but mostly angry – at the demons for holding their ritual where just any Slayer could barge right in, at herself for doing the barging, at Giles for not being here to research the results of said barging – she tried to shove the weirdness back into the back of her mind.  _Calm down, Buffy,_ she told herself firmly. _I’ll deal with it after I get to the hotel. Right now, I’ve got to find Spike – no,_ William _– and his mother… And, speaking of weirdness, how weird is_ that _? Spike is anything but shy, anything but polite… Even Giles’s book said he was a thief, didn’t it?_

“… the moon above doth hide her face for shame…”

The voice brought her to a stop just outside a door that was just ajar.  It was male, accented and familiar, but not just how she remembered.  _Although,_ she thought a little absently, _he sounds more like Giles than… Right.  You know, Buffy, you_ have _to stop thinking of him as Spike.  He’s_ not Spike now.  _You kept him from becoming Spike.  He’s_ William.

“The words falling from your lips a thousand knives…”

Hovering outside, not wanting to interrupt – or let him know she was eavesdropping, however unintentionally – Buffy winced and the last of her anger disappeared.  _So someone did break his heart last night. Poor guy.  And then to get turned by Dru right after that… No wonder he was all about her for a century._

“O, bright-eyed angel, come to save me…”

She shook her head.  _That’s even more true than you think._

“William, are you quite all right?” The second voice was feminine, somewhat fragile, or maybe strained, and definitely worried.  For a moment, Buffy thought it was her mother.

 _That must be_ his _mother,_ she realized with a start.

“I’m fine, Mother,” William replied, and even Buffy could tell he was lying.  “Please, don’t worry yourself about me.”

“The poem was lovely, my dear,” Mrs. Pratt said after a short silence, “but so very different from your usual.  I suppose that I just hoped that nothing had happened…”

 _Poem?_   Buffy blinked in shock.  _Are you_ kidding _me?_   _Spike wrote poetry?_   Then she shook her head.  _Argh! Not_ Spike, William.  William _writes poetry._

Somehow, that made more sense than trying to think about Spike writing poetry.

“No, Mother, it’s nothing, truly.”  Peeking in the door, she saw William, in a suit similar to the one he’d been wearing the night before, bending over an older woman sitting on a sofa.  She was dressed in a severe black dress and cap.  He smiled and pressed his lips to her cheek.

Mrs. Pratt wrapped her fingers around William’s hand, smiling happily back up at him, and Buffy quickly ducked out of sight.  _Wow,_ she thought, stunned.  _Who knew?_

After another minute of all being silent within – taking that time to gather her courage – Buffy pushed the door open further.  “Good morning,” she said, trying to contain her nervousness.  “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Miss Summers.”  William rose from his seat, fountain pen forgotten in his hand.  “Good morning.  I hope you slept well?”

She smiled.  He was so eager it was… adorable.  “Very well, thank you.”

“Mother, may I present Miss Summers?  Miss Summers, my lovely mother.”

Mrs. Pratt blushed and set aside something that looked like a wooden hoop with some kind of cloth stretched over it.  “William, you flatterer,” she scolded gently.  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Summers.”  She nodded, and Buffy couldn’t imagine a queen being more regal.

She curtseyed.  “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Pratt,” she replied.  “And thank you for letting me stay the night.  I can’t believe I got so lost.”

Mrs. Pratt studied her for a moment, and Buffy realized just where Spike had gotten his piercing eyes.  It felt just like her own mother looking at her, seeing through all her excuses, and she fought the urge to fidget.

But then the older woman smiled warmly, and in it, Buffy saw shades of William – and Spike – and she couldn’t help but return it.

After breakfast, she enjoyed the walk to the hotel where she was apparently staying.  Mrs. Pratt had been interested about her as an American, but very polite about it, and had more or less ordered William to accompany her back to Bailey’s.

Once there, the hotel staff fluttered about her nigh-scandalous absence.  Within moments, she was more than tired of it and wishing she’d never even taken a second look at those demons in the alley.  _At least I wouldn’t be_ here…

“Miss Summers?” William said, and his tone was a little choked.  She turned to him, concerned, and found him flushed.  She had just opened her mouth to ask if he were sick when he rushed on, “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to call upon you this evening?”

Surprised, Buffy just blinked at him for a second, tongue-tied.  Part of her wanted to ruthlessly demand why a vampire… and she had to remind herself _again_ that he wasn’t one, not now.  Then, just as he seemed to crumple into himself, she gave him her brightest grin.  “I’d like that very much, thank you.”

He blushed, again peering at her from under his unruly bangs, giving her that same sweetly solemn smile she’d seen only briefly last night.  “Until tonight, then,” he said, and gave her another short bow before leaving.

 _Why did I agree?_ she asked herself, watching as he walked away.  _I should be trying to find a way to get home, not trying to make nice with vampires that aren’t vampires anymore._   She turned to climb the stairs to her room, resolutely ignoring the bright blue eyes, honest and open, that filled her mind.

 _At least it’ll be nice to have some company for a little while…_

***

Buffy frowned, looking around at the interior of the shop.  It was all jars of herbs and eyes and… stuff lining the walls, small and close and musty.  The smells reminded very strongly of the time when Willow had taken her to the magic shop in Sunnydale.  _Which, I suppose, is the point, isn’t it?_ she thought. _A magic shop is a magic shop._

 _But see, the_ real _problem,_ she thought, slowly growing frustrated, _is that I have_ no _idea what kind of spell I’d need, or anything.  Books – I need books, and there aren’t any here.  Argh!  How am I going to get home when I have no freaking clue what I need to do? Or anything to find information in?_

The shop keep was a heavyset man with grey hair and beady eyes.  She felt like he was watching her every second, yet whenever she tried to sneak a glance back at him, he was bent over his account books.  He definitely made her nervous.  So she stayed away from the counter, pretending to decipher the labels on the bottles, with their cramped scribbles and misspellings.

 _I could ask him if he knows about some books or… well,_ anything, she thought reluctantly, gnawing the inside of her cheek.  _Right.  And have him call the police or whoever, so they’ll lock me up._   She controlled a shudder and headed for the door.  _No sir, no way, no how._

Outside, she took a breath of air, slightly fresher than inside, and started to slowly walk back to the hotel.   _I think I’m getting more used to the corset-thingy.  I can walk and breathe at the same time now._   Instead of making her feel better, though, that made her feel even more out of sorts, because it meant that she’d already been here too long.

 _And you’re gonna get_ stuck _here, too,_ she berated herself as she walked, _if you don’t start_ doing _something about it!_

Reading the note she’d found in her purse – reticule, or so she’d been advised by one of the maids at the hotel – at least 3 times a day hadn’t given her any further explanation on how to get back to her own time, much to her irritation.

After nearly a week, however, she could recite it practically by heart

Of course, also after nearly a week, she’d only found one magic shop, and that one was without books.  _How am I going to find another one?_

After a short walk, she saw the now-familiar façade of the hotel.  Outside, looking around and frowning in bewilderment, she caught sight of William.  The very sight of him made her feel a little better, made her smile, and she hitched up her skirt a little to hurry to meet him.  “William!” she called.

The sound of his name made him spin around, and his features melted into a smile.  “Miss Summers,” he said as she stopped in front of him, his tone scolding, “As I’ve mentioned before, it’s not entirely proper for you to…”

She laughed and treated him to her brightest grin, even as William tucked her hand under his arm and started to walk with her up the steps into the hotel.  She loved the way that he did that without thinking.  It made her feel like a lady, somehow.  “And I’ve told you,” she retorted playfully, “that I’ve never called my friends by their last names.” 

He gave her a mock glare over his glasses, but the twitch of his lips gave him away.

She bumped her shoulder against his arm, her lips still curved, waiting for him to relent.

He did, eventually; dropped his eyes and gave a soft huff of laughter, then slewed a look at her from the corner of his eye that took her breath away.

That look was pure Spike.

And for just a second, Buffy had to fight against the sudden surge of adrenaline, the voice in the back of her head that told her to grab her stake.  Realizing that all her muscles had tensed up, she forced herself to relax before William could notice.

 _This isn’t_ Spike, she told herself firmly.  _It’s_ William.  _And he’s your friend, your_ human _friend, whom you saved from being turned by Miss Looney Tunes… remember?_

“It’s all right for you to call me Buffy, you know,” she whispered, teasing, trying to chase away the lingering tension she could feel in her back, her shoulders.

He refused to look at her, but she could see his cheeks reddening.  “It’s not proper, Miss Summers,” he managed, then glanced at her, eyebrows raised, and a definitely Spike-worthy smirk threatening his lips.  “As much as I’d like to,” he added softly, cheeks burning brighter as he admitted something that, she supposed, was very daring for the time.

Thinking about Spike and noticing William’s lips, for a moment it seemed natural.  _I wonder how he kisses,_ she thought, studying William’s profile, and the sharp slash of cheekbones that, somehow, weren’t quite as prominent as she remembered.  From there, she recalled putting her hands on cool cheeks, her fingers curling into gelled hair a little, pulling his face close to hers for a passionate kiss…

Buffy’s body responded to the memory with a little hum of interest, just as it had whenever she’d inadvertently let herself think about it.

Just then, she realized what she was thinking about – _again!_ – and would have stopped still if it hadn’t been for William’s arm wound around hers, drawing her onward.  _No!_ she thought fiercely.  _No, no, no.  I am_ not _thinking about Spike or kisses or kissing Spike!  Just_ no.

“… Miss Summers?”

Shaking her head, Buffy pulled herself back from her thoughts, and barely stopped herself from saying _huh?_ , instead remembering just in time to say, “Yes?”

William was watching her with a slight frown marring his brow, head tilted very slightly to one side.   “Are you quite all right?”

She blushed, completely unfeigned.  “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly turning to look down at the tips of her shoes where they peeked out from under her skirt.  “I was in a whole other world…  What were you saying?”  She risked a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

He nodded, frown turning into a small smile.  “Would you like to play whist?”

She blinked.  “Which?”

He chuckled at that, a warm sound that seemed to belie his shy demeanor, and gave her another hint of Spike.  _Not Spike, Buffy!_ she told herself again.

“No, whist.  It’s a card game… I take it it’s not popular in America?”

She shook her head.  “I’ve never heard of it, so, I’d guess, no?”

He tilted his head toward a free table in the corner of the parlor.  “Then it would be my pleasure to teach you, if you are willing?”

Despite not wanting to think about Spike or kissing anymore, Buffy smiled and squeezed his arm.  Whatever thoughts were running through her head, they weren’t William’s fault, not really. “I think I’d like that.”

***

Finding magic stores – or other places where the supernatural was not looked at strangely – without wandering all over London or getting horribly lost was… difficult.  Buffy even thought it would be hard for someone who _knew_ the city or was from this time, never mind a California girl born 100 years from now.

Or so she told herself after a week of being somewhat weary and very lost and footsore.  As much as she liked the boots, there wasn’t quite as much padding in them as she was used to.  Not to mention that the only magic shop she’d actually _found_ had been the one without any books.

It definitely was depressing.  Rather than face the disappointment again and again, she decided to stay in the hotel, waiting for William.

And William didn’t fail her – he called upon her every day.

So she kept waiting for him, because in between the time she called him her friend and she actually realized they _were_ friends, she realized that she liked him, liked being in his company.  He was soft-spoken and, as she grew to know him better, gently teasing in a way that was completely at odds with what she knew of Spike.

That was always there, too, that knowledge of what William could become, given a century’s worth of time and a vampire demon, but it grew further and further from her thoughts as she continued to spend time with him, until it became strange to think of him as a vampire at all.

Maybe it was a lack of things for her to do, but the days lagged, hours passing unbearably slow.  When William arrived, however, time seemed to fly, and before she knew it, it was late enough that they were nearly alone in the hotel’s parlor, and he was taking his leave.  And it all started over again in the morning.

Of course, the sameness of it all was shattered one night when, after playfully accusing William of cheating at whist to let her win, and giggling over his laughing protestations of innocence, Buffy glanced at him over the table and felt her heart give a peculiar little extra _thump_.

Catching her gaze, William paused in his deal of the cards.  “Miss Buffy?” he asked softly, saying her name with a deeper inflection that made shivers run down her spine. 

 _They’re the good kind of shivers, though,_ she thought, and relished the sensation, the tingle in the pit of her stomach.  He still refused to take the liberty of calling her by her name alone, and the compromise they had come to had been hard fought.  “Hmm?”

“Are you…” He trailed off, as if unsure of exactly what he wanted to ask.

“I’m good,” she replied, her smile widening.  “Go ahead and deal, Mister Card Sharp.”

With another soft laugh, he did so.

When William took his leave, he lingered over her hand, and she wished he were kissing her for real.  Only then did she realize her heart was full to bursting, watching him exit the hotel.

 _I’m falling for him._   The thought just appeared in her head, and she sagged against the stair’s impressive railing in shock, staring at the back of his head until he disappeared into the darkness.

***

 _I can’t be falling for him,_ Buffy thought, staring up at the canopy over her bed.  The words had been running through her head since she’d lain down.  Now it was nearly morning and her eyes burned with exhaustion.

 _Now I’m not even sure how long I’ve been here anymore.  If I don’t find a way soon, I may never get back._   She rested one arm over her eyes, sighed.  _I can’t stay here just for him.  And I did_ not _just consider staying here for him.  I don’t_ want _to stay here for him.  I_ want _to go home and kick demon butt for getting stranded here._

 _I need to kill something.  I haven’t been out on patrol since I got here._   She’d told herself that patrolling here – in the heart of Watcher Council country – was not the smart way to keep from getting noticed.  Not to mention the fact that she couldn’t shake her distrust of any Watcher who wasn’t Giles.  But now, her need for some clarity, some familiarity was starting to outweigh sensibility.

 _God, I’m even starting to sound like him in my thoughts.  This is bad.  This is very bad._

So, as always when faced with a situation that she couldn’t fight and couldn’t deal with, Buffy fell back onto one of her tried and true plans.

She avoided.

She sulked in her hotel room for the rest of the day, pretending to be sick.  ‘Recovering’ the next day, she started out on her search for another magic store, only to be thwarted again by the lack of phone directories, internet and knowledge of the city.

When she returned in the early evening, William was in the lobby, obviously waiting for her.  Her heart lurched at the sight of him, and she took a couple of steps toward him before remembering that she had reasons for _not_ wanting to talk to him and veering away once more.

But of course he had seen her, and hurried after her, catching her sleeve as she was about to ascend the staircase.  “Miss Summers!”

 _I could get away from him,_ she thought, closing her eyes and trying to force the ache in her chest to stop.  _Pull away from him and run upstairs as fast as I can and lock the door…_ But she didn’t.  She didn’t even try to remove her arm from his grasp.

“Miss Summers…” Then he lowered his voice, leaning closer so that he wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else in the lobby.  “Buffy…”

At the sound of her name, whispered in her ear and sounding the very same way Spike had said it when they were under Willow’s spell, her heart started to hammer away, and her whole body went hot.  _That’s_ so _not fair, saying my name like that!_ she thought, trying to cling to the reasons not to talk to him that she had come up with the day before, reasons that had seemed _so important…_

“I was worried,” William went on, his tone growing more hesitant when she didn’t acknowledge him.  “You… you are feeling better today, I hope?”

Her resolve began to falter, and she discovered that she couldn’t just brush her feelings aside, couldn’t just brush _him_ aside.

Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought, the very idea that she’d even _tried_.  _I can’t…_ “Yes, thank you.”  She glanced up at him, smiling tremulously, and knew he saw her eyes were damp by the way he sucked in a breath.  Fighting for control, she quickly turned away again, left with the impression of blue eyes very wide behind his glasses.

“Buffy?”

She dragged in a breath, ribs straining against the corset.  _Just once,_ she thought, and was shocked at the bitterness flooding her, _just_ once, _I want to be_ happy _, and not have to worry about everything going to hell afterwards. No regrets._

That decided her.  She was going to really carpe some diem this time. 

She shook off William’s hand, only to grab it in her own.  “Come on,” she ordered, and started up the stairs, dragging him behind her.

Of course, he protested, but quietly, nervous about causing a scene.  “Miss... Buffy... what are you… _Ow…_ ”

 _Oops, might be using a little Slayer strength there,_ she thought sheepishly, and loosened her grip slightly.

She didn’t stop when they reached the top of the stairs, but continued down the corridor to her room. She let him go to dig in her reticule for the key, then opened the door as quickly as she could, before he could take it into his head to run away.  Once unlocked, she pushed it open and took his hand again to pull him inside.

Only when they were safely behind the door and it was locked once more did she turn to look at him.

He stood in the center of her bedroom, his face completely red with embarrassment.  “Buffy, this is really not appropriate… I should not… I mean… here, in your _bedchamber_ …”

“I know,” she said softly.  “But what I have to say… well, let’s just say that I don’t want to say it in the lobby for everyone to hear, all right?”

That made him stiffen, as if he were bracing himself for some hurt.

Buffy smiled, trying to put him at ease, trying to keep all of her doubts and fears to herself for just a little while longer.  “William… I…” She broke off, blowing out a breath, and glanced down at her feet, or rather, where they would be if not hidden by her skirts.  “This is… I guess it’s because the last time I said this to someone, they… became… different.” 

But she didn’t want to dwell on Angel and Angelus and the pain that she’d gone through.  Instead, she gathered all of herself and stepped closer to him, close enough to take the lapels of his coat in her hands.

“Buffy, what…”

“I love you.”  _Oh, God, I said it,_ she thought, and just saying the words made her feel… light.  Yes, that was the word, like she had been weighed down by keeping them in, and now it was more than a relief to get them out.  It was as if she’d put all of herself in her own hands and given it to him, something she’d never really done before.

She liked it, despite the feeling of vulnerability that crept up on her as he stared at her, jaw slack in astonishment.

“You... love me?” 

 _He sounds... weird,_ she thought, and now she had to steel herself as she anticipated getting rejected in turn.  _Like… maybe he doesn’t believe it?_

Then, when he raised one hand to cup her cheek, and she saw it tremble in the instant before it touched her, she knew it wasn’t disbelief, or not _all_ disbelief.  It was... wonder, it was joy.

She nodded.  “Yes, William.  I love you.”  It was easier this time, flowing out, where before it had gotten stuck in her throat.

A little roughly, he pulled her to him, clasping her against his chest, his face buried in her hair.  “Oh, Buffy... how I’ve waited for you to say that,” he breathed, and the warmth of his breath made butterflies jump in her stomach.  “I love you, too, Buffy.”

The words sang through her, filling every bit of her, and she pressed her face against his chest.

It occurred to her, fleetingly, that she’d been turned into the heroine from a romance novel when she wasn’t looking, or that she’d manage to ruin everything in the next few moments by saying the wrong thing, because that was just how her luck seemed to run.

“That’s good,” she said, then cringed at the words coming out of her mouth, fulfilling the thought she’d had only moments before.  _Why do I always_ do _this?_ she asked herself.

Instead of laughing, however, William just tightened his embrace.  “I think so, too,” he said, and there was still just a hint of that amazement in his voice, and somehow, that steadied her enough to make her pull away just a little.

“So I’m thinking that this is the point where you kiss me,” she said, smiling broadly.

Predictably, he hesitated.  “I don’t... I...”

She put her hands on those fine cheekbones and gently pulled his head down.  “Nothing to it,” she breathed, and covered his mouth with her own.

For a second, he didn’t respond, his lips slack against hers, but then he was kissing her back and fire exploded in every part of her.

Dimly, through the haze of delight, she recognized that while William didn’t kiss _exactly_ the way Spike did, it was still very much the same.  He threw himself into it with everything he had, and she knew very well that Spike never did anything by halves.

The rest of it was a century of technique, built on his completely natural talent.

She let it carry her away, let her tongue stroke against his lips, hoping he would open his mouth.

He did, hesitantly, and she could taste him, and he didn’t taste like blood and tobacco, though there was the faintest trace of alcohol, as if he’d had wine with his dinner.  She didn’t want to try to figure it out; instead, she just ran her tongue around the inside of his mouth, touching tongue and palette, teasing his teeth, especially where his canines would elongate...

 _Wait,_ she thought suddenly, _I’m not kissing Spike… I’m kissing William… no fangs…_

William was a quick learner, and now his tongue was in her mouth.  She wondered what she tasted like to him.

Then she told herself not to think about it any more.

The next thing she knew, she was pushing his coat down his arms, and half-expecting him to try to get away.

And he did, but only to pry his mouth from hers to gasp for air.  “Buffy… are you…”

Instead of replying, she shook her head, breathing heavily, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks, before leaning up to kiss him again.  While he was distracted, she managed to get his coat off.

Next she started working on his tie and the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, cursing silently as her fingers fumbled.

His hands were on her sides, clenching against the corset, and she wished that he’d do a little undoing of his own, get her out of that torture device.   _And if that leaves me the next thing to naked... well, isn’t that kind of the point?_

But he didn’t, just kept his mouth locked to hers, following her lead, caressing her tongue with his.

Again, the lack of air made her pull away, and she panted against his neck like she’d run a marathon.  He shuddered; she could easily feel it, the way her whole body was pressed against his.  “William,” she murmured, and couldn’t resist a nip, right where his neck met his shoulder.

He jerked at the feel of her teeth scraping his flesh and moaned softly, his fingers sliding down and tightening around her hips.  _I guess he likes that,_ she thought, and a surge of womanly pride filled her. She pressed a kiss to the spot she’d just bitten and then trailed more up his neck to his ear.  She blew in it softly, and her lust-clumsy fingers _finally_ managed to finish getting his shirt unbuttoned and untucked.

“Oh... Buffy...”

She could feel the tension in his arms, as if he were about to reclaim his senses and push her away.  Instead, she put her mouth to his ear again and whispered, “It’s all right, William.”  Nuzzling his neck, she went on, “I want to do this.”

“But... Buffy, I’ve... oh, bloody...”  He closed his eyes and trembled against her.  She felt his hands ball into fists.

From that incoherency, she managed to deduce that he had never done this before, and suddenly, she kind of wished she never had either.  “Don’t worry,” she said, and stepped back just enough to take one of his hands in hers, and place it against her breast, where the corset had pushed it up.  “I’m sure we’ll be fine if we just do what feels good.”  She watched him, waiting, tingling.

His hand was still for a moment before drifting downward, and even through the fabric of her dress and the chemise she wore beneath it, Buffy still felt a shock when it brushed over her nipple, peeking up over the corset.  She shivered and hummed, arching into his touch a bit more.  Without warning, his free hand came up, cupping her other breast, and she moaned quietly.  “Oh…”

At last, he started to unbutton her dress, working at the row of tiny buttons with barely leashed frustration as they resisted him.  She helped him – even though she’d only had to deal with them for maybe a month, that was still longer than he had – and as soon as it was open, she shrugged it from her shoulders and let it puddle at her feet.

Self-consciousness shook Buffy for a moment when he didn’t continue undressing her.  _I look all right, don’t I?_ She shot him a glance, and saw that he was staring at her cleavage where it swelled over her corset.  “Lovely,” he whispered; she barely heard it over the sound of her heart pounding.

Assured once more, she reached for the corset ties herself, but he stopped her.  “No,” he said, and there was a note of command there that she’d never heard before; it sent a shiver down her spine.  “This first…” And he reached up to the ribbon she’d used to tie her hair back this morning, almost ponytail-style.  When he tugged on it, it came free, and he ran his hand through her hair as it fell, gently tangling it around his fingers before releasing it and arranging it over her shoulders.  “Yes,” he smiled, “much better, though the ribbon does match your eyes.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat.  _No one’s ever… oh, wow._   Her hands shook as she raised them to capture his and press kisses to them.

Then, for a few minutes, it was all desire and heated kissing and muddling through too many layers of unfamiliar clothing to get to the skin hidden beneath.  _Although,_ Buffy thought, bracing herself on William’s surprisingly broad shoulders as he rolled her stockings carefully down her legs, this _is something I could really get used to… Oh, God…_

Nude at last, they stared at each other for a foolish moment, and Buffy realized that she was kind of waiting for William to take the lead, as Angel had, as Parker had.  Instead of letting that thought linger, she seized all her self-confidence – _and whoa,_ she thought, _who knew_ I’d _be the experienced one?_ – and pulled him gently toward the bed.  Settling down, sheets soft and cool under her back, she drew him down next to her, remembering at the last second to relieve him of his glasses.

Kisses, caresses, and oh, she was so ready she was quivering with need.  William’s skin was flushed and warm when she touched him, rolling him on top of her.  “Now,” she demanded, in a breathless voice that didn’t even sound like her own, “now!”

His first thrust missed; she bucked up just as he moved forward, too eager for more.  _Oh, God, oh, please, oh God,_ and then he was inside her, reminding her that she’d only done this twice before, and her muscles really didn’t remember what they should be doing.

The noise she made must have been more pain than pleasure, though, because William stopped over her, panting hard.  “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he whispered, his tone labored, and started to pull away.

“No!” She held him close, locked her legs around his hips, ankles crossed, to keep him from leaving.  “No, it’s all right,” she said, and stretched up to kiss him again, canting her own hips to bring him a little deeper.  “Go ahead… please?”

Warily, he pressed forward again and this time it definitely _didn’t_ hurt as she arced up to meet him.

Hands running slick over sweat-damp skin, William panting in her ear, her own soft sounds of encouragement, faster, harder, and her whole world had narrowed to the feel of him in her arms, inside her in every way she’d ever thought of. Her climax didn’t surprise her; she’d been eagerly awaiting it with every rock of her pelvis.  “Oh, God!” she gasped, and then tried to muffle the rest of it by latching onto his neck, right where it met the shoulder.

William lurched as all her muscles seized, then groaned – _“Buffy!”_ – shuddering against her as he spent.   After a moment, he collapsed onto her, and buried his face in her neck.  She twisted to press a kiss to a spot above his ear, let her hands drift in lazy swirls up and down his back.

When his breathing had slowed to normal, she gave him a nudge, nose and hips.  “Hey,” she whispered, “you all right?”

He was silent for a long moment, before groaning and propping himself up on his elbows.  “And now I know why it’s called the little death,” he said, and bent to kiss her most thoroughly.

“Why’s that?” she asked, _and why,_ she thought, _do I sound so… breathy?_

“Because,” he paused for more kisses, “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Buffy laughed, and brushed his hair back from his face.  “You’ve also gone to heavy,” she teased.

William blushed, then grinned.  “Oh, I do beg your pardon, madam,” he replied, with what was definitely a Spike-worthy smirk.  “However, before I can move, there is a wanton hussy that must remove her legs from about my person…”

She could feel herself turn red to the roots of her hair as she unwound her legs from around him.  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

It took some jostling and arranging, but eventually they discovered a comfortable position in which to curl up together, William’s arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.  From there, it was a short journey to sleep.

When Buffy woke again, the room was dark, save for the very weak glow of the lamp beside the bed.  Carefully, she extricated herself from William’s embrace and stretched to turn the lamp up higher.

As the flickering light strengthened, it turned William’s skin rosy again.  Unable to stop herself, she leaned over him, and traced her fingers over the lines of his face and the curl of his hair, never quite touching.

After a long moment, she sighed softly and drew back.  _I should have known,_ she thought.  _Nothing ever goes the way I plan it.  This was supposed to be a no-regrets kind of thing… but now, I really wish I hadn’t.  How am I going to be able to leave you now?_

“Leave?” William’s eyes opened wide.  “What do you mean, leave?” and the hurt in his voice was so deep, so immense, she felt she would drown.

After a frantic second of wondering just _when_ William had become psychic, Buffy realized, stomach sinking, that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud and covered her mouth.

 _Oh, damn…_


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t leave,” William said, forcing himself upright.  “Not after… after this…”

Dropping her hand from her mouth, Buffy turned away, unable to bear the heartrending look of betrayal he wore.  “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring down at her hands as they clenched in the covers.  “I’ve got to go back home.”

“You… you could stay,” he said softly, “if you want to… as my wife…”

She gasped, tears filling her eyes at the sudden pain his words brought.  With an effort, she met his gaze.  “Part of me really would like that,” she replied.  “In fact, most of me would.  But… I have to go back.  I have a… a duty at home, responsibilities…”

“If it’s your duty to your mother,” he interrupted, “let her come to London as well, Buffy, please.  From all you’ve said, she and my mother would…”

Sadly, she shook her head.  _I wish it hadn’t come to this._   “No, I can’t.  I… I’m not _from_ here, William.”

He tilted his head a little to one side, his eyes bright with emotion.  “No, I know, Buffy.  You’re from California, but truly, it doesn’t matter where…”

“No,” she interrupted firmly, not willing to hide this truth any longer.  “It’s not just that I’m from California.  It’s that I’m from a hundred years in the future.”

William stared at her, mouth open in shock.  After a few seconds, he shook himself, as if to rid himself of a ridiculous notion.  “Buffy, be serious!  I…”

“I _am_ being serious,” she said.  “I’ve got to get home, I’ve got to do my duty…”

“What duty?” he asked, voice tight.  “What duty could be more important than…”

She flinched and dropped his gaze.  _I already decided that saving the world is more important than love,_ she thought, Acathla filling her mind.  _When does love get to be more important?_

When she still said nothing, William took an unsteady breath.  “I see,” he choked.  “It’s not that there’s a duty, it’s that there’s no love save mine.”  He flung back the covers and climbed from the bed, to begin gathering his clothes.

The anguish in his voice knocked the air from her body.  “No,” she breathed, feeling the words stop in her throat to strangle her.  “No, it’s not that at all…”

The expression he wore was a mixture of confusion and fury and hurt, and hauntingly familiar in her memory.  “Then why, Buffy?  Why say…” his voice broke and he had to take several breaths before he could go on, “ _that_ , and then talk of leaving?”

“Because it’s true,” she answered simply.  “I never planned to fall in love with you – with _anyone_ – while I was stuck here in the past.  But it happened.  And before I left, I wanted you to know, even though you probably won’t remember when I’m gone.”  She couldn’t bear the look he gave her and glanced down, hitching the sheet higher under her arms.  “You… you knew I’d have to leave eventually, even if I was what I said I was.”

“I hoped you would be persuaded to stay,” he replied in a whisper.  His fingers stilled in the midst of pulling on his waistcoat.  “I still hope that you will, despite… despite this fantastic story…”

“But I _have_ to go!” Buffy cried, scrambling from the bed.  When he looked away from her nudity, she flushed and quickly shimmied back into her chemise.  “They need me back home.  No one else can do… what I do.  And I really _don’t_ belong here, anymore than you…” She swallowed the rest of what she would have said, remembering Spike. Spike _did_ belong there, _then_ , despite being a vampire… or maybe because of it.

Then it hit her, as she was studying William’s face and thinking of Spike, that as hard as she’d tried to keep them separate, they weren’t.  They never had been, except in her mind.  They were the same.  The look she saw on his face now was exactly the same one she saw that night Spike had first come back to Sunnydale, after Drusilla had left him.  He tried to hide it behind his smirks and leers and that tongue-curling thing, but it was too great a pain for anything to hide it.

The man she’d come to love and the… creature she called the bane of her existence were the same person.

The knowledge left her even more shaken, and she shivered from a sudden chill.

William stuffed his tie into his waistcoat pocket and pulled on his shoes.  Her heart sank, and she was truly afraid that if he left before she could make him see, nothing would ever be right again.

“Please don’t go, William.”  She scooped up her dress from the floor.

He paused, his hand on the door.  “You say you won’t stay, even though I ask,” and the bitterness in his voice was overwhelming.

“William, please.  I love you…” The dress crumpled in her hands, her grip was so tight.

His eyes caught hers then, and she could see that he wanted to believe her, but her own admission wouldn’t let him.  “If you loved me,” he said with a calm that didn’t disguise the emotions rioting in his eyes, “you would stay.”

With that he left, slamming the door behind him.

Still struggling into her dress, she debated chasing after him wearing just her shift, but modesty prevented her from following though on that idea.  _I can probably catch him if I really hurry,_ she thought, her fingers awkward on the buttons on the bodice of her dress in her haste.  _Hurry, hurry, can’t let him go…_ As soon as she had yanked on her boots, she reached for the doorknob.

Her hand passed through it, slowly, so she could feel the cool of the metal surrounding her fingertips.

She stared at the door in shock, then at her hand.  While the one seemed solid enough, she could see vague outlines through her palm, as if she were fading away.

 _Fading away,_ she thought, clenching a fist.  _Just like… like when I was fighting just before I ended up here.  I couldn’t hit them, and then poof! I was here… Oh!  No! No, no, no, I can’t go back now!  I’ve gotta find William!  I’ve got to explain…_   Taking a deep breath, she flung herself toward the door, hoping that she was already out of phase enough that she wouldn’t knock herself out.

Instead, she dove right through it headfirst, to land sprawling on the carpet on the other side.  “Well, that worked,” she muttered, and picked herself up as fast as she could.  She hadn’t taken the time to fight with the corset, and even though the buttons on her dress gaped open in some places, its absence made getting up – and running – much easier.

Luckily, the hallway was nearly empty of people, and she was able to run down its length without going through anyone, despite the shrieks and stares that followed her.  The stair into the hotel foyer was more crowded, the screams of fright louder and more numerous as she forced her way down.  A couple of women fainted, falling gracefully to the highly polished floor.

Buffy didn’t care; all that mattered was finding William.  She pushed through the people in the foyer, though most gave way when they saw the way she flickered transparent.  Having gained the door to the street, she gritted her teeth and threw herself through it. 

She could feel her limbs starting to tingle, and it felt just like when her foot would fall asleep, except all the way up her calves and forearms.  The very same thing had happened when she had been fighting the demons that had sent her here.  She had fought it then, not knowing what it was.  Now, knowing, remembering, she fought it even harder.  _Not now!_ she thought, desperately looking for William, this way and that.  _I can’t go back now!  I have to find him… make him see the truth…_

She caught sight of him then, just the top of his sandy head as he disappeared around the corner, heading back toward the house he shared with his mother.  Balling her skirts in one hand, she followed, running as fast as she could.  “William!” she called, and though some turned to at her cry to gawk at her, they quickly averted their eyes, exclaiming in fear.

Cries of “Ghost!” followed her.

William either didn’t hear her or simply wasn’t going to heed her.  He continued on, bumping into others on the street more often than not, but still moving forward.  Moving away. _Wait for me, you jerk,_ Buffy thought, pushing her slowly vanishing body to the utmost.  _I just want to_ explain…

She was forced to pause, however, on coming to the second corner.  Straight on was the most direct path back to where he lived, but she couldn’t even glimpse him.  There were too many people, too many carriages, too much _movement_ for her to make William out in that direction.  The intersecting street twisted among the buildings, and offered too many places for someone to hide if they wanted to.  _If he heard me, he might have decided to hide out,_ she thought, chewing her lip.  _But he probably wanted to get back home, to be in private…_   Her own tears threatened at having caused William pain.  _Come on, Buffy,_ she told herself, resolve firming.  _You’ve gotta find him before you fade away.  Gotta…_ She started running again, down the intersecting street.

She was forced to slow down to peer into the alleys she passed, just in case he’d taken it into his head it was a good place to hide.  There were fewer people on this street, but she was still falling behind, and now the feeling of fading was getting even harder to ignore.  Her legs tingled more than halfway up her thighs, and her arms nearly all the way to the shoulder.  Even though it was progressing slower than it had when she was sent here, her time was still growing short, and she hadn’t found him yet.  _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ ran through her head, endlessly repeating.  _Please, let me find him…_

The narrow street eventually widened, giving out into a more open area.  Buffy was halfway through it, somewhat relieved that there were no more hidey-holes every few feet, when the familiarity struck her.  _Oh, no,_ she thought, heart in her throat.  She glanced around wildly, and began to run once more, knowing where William was.

She’d found him there before, after all.  She had followed him back to the same place where she’d arrived.

“William…” She stumbled to a stop in the alley, breathing heavily.  She’d found him.

Found _them_.  Drusilla was there, standing in front of William; that sing-song tone and heavy accent could belong to no one else.  Not to mention the fact that she was swaying lazily, ever so slightly from side to side.  Using thrall, just being deliberately mysterious when William had had too much truth… she didn’t know.  _I don’t care, either,_ she thought fiercely, storming forward, but the sight of William gave her pause.

His eyes were red from tears, streaked tracks down his face, and her own heart wept in response.  But he was looking at Dru, staring at her in fascination, as if she were the only person in the world for him at that moment.

Buffy knew how that felt, and she didn’t want Drusilla to _ever_ know.

“Do you want it?”

William reached out, hand trembling, but stopped before he touched Drusilla’s cheek, letting his hand come to rest instead over her silent heart.  It was the same way she herself had guided his hand a bare hour ago.  “Oh, yes,” he replied, voice unsteady, fervent, in a way that Buffy had never heard him speak before.

 _He agreed…_ “No!” she cried, hands outstretched to grab Dru’s hair, her shoulder, her skirt, whatever she could.

But she was even more ghostly now, could clearly see the outlines of the bricks and cobblestones through her arm, and her fingers couldn’t even disturb the lie of Dru’s curls. Buffy overbalanced and nearly fell.

William’s face reflected slow-dawning horror when she looked again, and her heart sank as Buffy realized that Dru must have vamped out.  With surprising fastidiousness, the vampire moved William’s collar aside then slowly moved in to make her bite.

He flinched, his face twisting in pain, and Buffy remembered the pain and horror she’d felt when the Master had bitten her.  “Ow,” and he twitched, an abortive movement to push her away, but Dru just tightened her grip on him.  “Ow… Ow!  OW!”

“William, oh, no, no….” Once more, she tried to take hold of Drusilla, to pull her away from him – _you’re hurting him, you bitch, aren’t you listening?_ – but again, her hands passed right though the vampire, and if her phantom touch even made her shiver, Buffy couldn’t tell.

He collapsed, still crying out, and Dru followed, eager to take every last drop of his blood.  Stunned, Buffy could only watch as his eyes dimmed, as his breath became erratic. _I can’t do anything,_ she thought, one hand covering her mouth. _I can’t save him, why can’t I save him?_

Finally, Drusilla raised her head, lips smeared delicately with his blood, and oh, Buffy felt she had never _hated_ someone as much as she did in that instant. Moving precisely, Dru removed her glove and carefully drew up her sleeve before tearing open her wrist.  “There,” she cooed, lowering her bleeding wrist to William’s mouth.  “Mummy will make everything better.  You’ll be my darling boy.” 

Just then, the tingling strengthened all throughout her body, and Buffy knew her time was up.  She kept her eyes locked on William’s face, devoutly ignoring the way Dru stroked his hair back and crooned to him as her blood filled his mouth.  His eyes flickered open and he seemed to see her at last.  She took her hand away from her mouth and reached out to him.  “I’m sorry, William,” she whispered, but before she could say anything else, the _I love you_ that clung to her lips, he closed his eyes and swallowed.

Everything disappeared in a spiral flash.

***

The world resolved into solidity around her, and Buffy was… home.

Not home-home; she was still in an alley, but it wasn’t the same one.  This one reeked of tar and refuse and incense rather than hay and horses.  More importantly, William wasn’t there.  Drusilla wasn’t there, stealing away William’s life while she watched, helpless. _Sunnydale_ , she thought, feeling nothing but numb, and slumped backward, against the wall of the building behind her.  _I’m back._

She could see the diagram the demons had chalked on the pavement for their ritual.  One candle lay on its side, still lit, but starting to gutter out.  She wore the clothes she had been wearing that night, the ones she’d missed every day of her stay in the past.

And yet, none of it mattered.  Slowly, she slid down the wall, landing in a boneless heap on the filthy floor of the alley.  She stared fixedly at the candle without seeing it, until at last it sputtered out, leaving her blind.

 _She killed him,_ she thought, and took a deep, shuddering breath.  _She killed the man I love right in front of me and turned him into something_ I’m _supposed to kill.  Something I’m supposed to hate._ Tears stung her eyes, and she opened them wide, trying to keep them from falling.  _How can I hate him now?_

She never registered that there was someone else in the alley with her until they stepped into her line of vision.  She looked up but made no move to rise, even when she recognized the demon that had been in the center of the ritual.  He looked less demonic now – the horns had shrunk significantly, and his skin was a pale blue in tone, though he still had webbed fingers.

“We travel through time in search of truth,” the demon said.  His voice was soft, modulated, almost as if he were speaking with himself in thirds.  “The truths of the universe, our own personal truths… it doesn’t matter.  That’s all we seek.  We don’t concern ourselves with your kind.  We fought you simply to defend ourselves.  Had you let us complete our ritual, no harm would have come to any of your people.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, her voice trembling a little.  She rested her head against the wall behind her.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

The demon surveyed her in silence for a moment or two.  “Sometimes,” he said, and his tone was gentle now, “sometimes the truth we find is a painful one.  But that, too, is part of the journey.”

“I love him,” she whispered.  “I told him I loved him and then I told him how I wasn’t supposed to be there… and then I started to fade away… I couldn’t save him when she turned him.” She gulped back a sob. 

The demon nodded.  “Finding the truth to bring you home isn’t always the most difficult part.”

In spite of herself, Buffy looked up.  “What do you…”

“Sometimes, it’s just admitting what you know to be true.”  With one last nod, the demon turned and strode toward the street.

 _Admitting what I know is true?_ she asked herself.  _That Will – that_ Spike _– that they were the same?  That I decided it was all right to change the past?  He ended up getting turned anyway._   Her sob was so loud that she surprised herself, and she covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hold it back.

Then the pain that had been lurking inside since the moment William had left rose up inside her, closing her throat, choking her.  She hid her face against her knees, rocking herself in search of lost comfort as she cried.

***

Buffy’s eyes still felt raw when she called Giles.  Somehow, she’d picked herself up and made her way back to her mother’s house, though she couldn’t remember just how she’d gotten there.  Her mother was away on what felt like the 15th buying trip since Buffy had started college, but that was all right, too.  Alone was good.

Alone meant no one trying to find out why she was so upset, because she really didn’t feel up to talking about it.  _Not now, maybe not ever._

She curled up on her bed after telling Giles she was okay.  _Except I’m so far from okay that I’m not even in the same state, never mind the same zip code,_ she thought, staring at a room that had become so unfamiliar that she almost couldn’t recognize it as her own.

She slept late in the morning, and after that, it took a considerable amount of time to convince herself that she really should let Giles know all the particulars of her time travel.  It was therefore well after noon when she showed up at Giles’s apartment.

Of course, blurting out “I think maybe I changed history” and causing Giles to snap his pencil probably wasn’t the best way to start.

“W-why do you say that?”  Putting down the pencil, Giles immediately reached for his glasses and handkerchief.

Shaking her head, Buffy turned away, gazing down at her own hands, watching them clench into fists on her thighs.

“Buffy.”  Giles’s voice brooked no argument, and she forced herself to meet his gaze again. His face, however, wasn’t nearly as stern as his tone.  “How long were you there?”

“A… long time.  At least a month.”  She flashed a tight smile.  “Long enough to change lots of things.”

“Well, yes,” Giles admitted.  “That’s true.  But you can’t know that your presence was enough to…”

“I do, Giles,” Buffy asserted, looking away.  “I saved… someone from being made into a vampire… And then I kind of spent a lot of time with him, because he was the only one I knew, and…”

“Oh, dear.” She could feel Giles’s eyes weighty upon her, and she hunched her shoulders.  “It was Angel – Angelus…” He paused when Buffy gave him a wry smile and an arched eyebrow.  “Except,” he went on slowly, brow furrowed, “it _couldn’t_ have been, could it?  If you had kept him from being turned, I wouldn’t remember…”

“No, it wasn’t Angel,” she said.  “I did see him, but I don’t think he knew I was there, unless Drusilla said something… No.  It was Spike.”  She was very proud that she kept her voice from breaking as she said his name.  She still had to blink to keep the tears away, though.

“Buffy, I can remember Spike as well. In fact, I can quite vividly recall what an appalling house guest he was, and I am heartily glad that he’s departed to dwell elsewhere. If you had saved him, I shouldn’t remember him at all.”

 _Here comes the difficult part._   She took a deep breath.  “I did… something, to break the spell that was keeping me there, but it didn’t bring me back all at once.  I was starting to fade, and Drusilla…” She broke off; there was a sob swelling in her chest, she could feel it, and she had to swallow it back down.  “Just before I came back, I saw… she bit him,” she finished in a rush.

“Then… why are you so sure that you changed history?”  Giles still held his glasses in one hand.  “If he was turned regardless of your presence…”

Buffy flinched as his words scraped over her tender heart.  “But…” She had to swallow again.  _What if he doesn’t remember me? What if he_ does? “What about… there was at least a month of people he didn’t kill.  Doesn’t that mean _something?_ Those people…”

“It means only that he killed that many less people.”  She cringed again at Giles’s harsh tone.  “Buffy, the man you came to know while you were in the past died when Drusilla turned him.  He no longer exists.”

It was exactly what she couldn’t stand to hear.

Before Giles could say anything else, she ran, and slammed the door shut behind her.

***

Spike had moved out of Giles’s apartment as well as Xander’s basement.  Nobody knew where he’d gone, and nobody really cared.

I _care,_ Buffy thought, wandering aimlessly through one of Sunnydale’s numerous graveyards.  _I’m not really sure I really want to find him, or what I’d say if I did, but I care where he is._

She wasn’t sure she could stop caring, despite the fact that she probably should.  All she was sure of was that the man she loved had died over a hundred years ago, and been turned into one of the vampires she was chosen to Slay.  All she knew right now was that she hurt.

A gleam of light through the dusk caught her eye, and she slowed, frowning, then stopped altogether.  The doors on the crypt just ahead of her were wide open, and a light flickered inside.  _As if inviting me in,_ she thought, and let out a shuddering breath.  _Is it Spike?  It’s gotta be.  Who else would be living in a cemetery?  I’m not ready…_

 _I might never be ready._   She walked reluctantly over to the crypt door, paused for a moment, then stepped in.

 _Spike_.  He was lounging in a tattered green chair, booted feet stretched out in front of him and a bottle in one hand.  Candles flickered from various surfaces, giving his skin a warm hue.  When he glanced up at her entrance, she had to stifle a gasp.  Even without the glasses, the look was one she’d seen William wear in her not-to-distant past; eyes wide and so blue, mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t believe…

“Slayer.” He settled more firmly in his chair, and the William-expression faded into his habitual smirk.  He tilted his head to one side and raised one eyebrow as if in question.  “Come to roust me out, have you?”

It took a moment for her to catch her breath, to make sure her voice was steady enough to answer.  “No, not here to… to roust you.  What does that even mean, anyway?” she mused, taking refuge in the inconsequential.

“Kick me out, I should say, then,” he amended, eyeing her.

The wariness in his gaze was a trial she hadn’t expected, and she discovered that sometime over her last month, she’d misplaced both her ability and her desire to match wits with Spike.  “No, not for that, either,” she said.  Before her knees could decide to give out, she sank down onto the steps into the crypt, still watching him.

He tensed; she could see every muscle in his body – _what a lovely body,_ she thought distantly, and didn’t berate herself for thinking it – coil as if preparing to leap.  “Then what brings you to my humble abode?”

“I saw the lights,” she said.  “Wasn’t sure it was you, and decided to check it out…” But that wasn’t the whole truth, and she knew it.

 _I needed to see you… could I see you again and not…_ She shoved the thought into a corner of her mind.  _I can’t think about that now, I just can’t._   “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, biting back the _I love you_ she wanted to add, that she hadn’t been able to give to him before she had returned to the present, before he died.

“For what?” Spike seemed honestly surprised by her apology.  He straightened a little in his chair and studied her intently.

She opened her mouth to say _because I couldn’t save you,_ to remind him of the night he was killed, then snapped it shut again.  _It’s still just last night for me,_ she thought, heart-sore.  _It was a hundred and twenty years ago for him… if he remembers me at all._   As soon as she had that thought, she wished she could unthink it.  The very idea that he didn’t – or _couldn’t_ – remember all the things they had said and done, that she was the only one who remembered their time together made her want to curl up and wait for the pain to go away.  _I guess I wanted him to remember it after all…_

Somehow, she made herself answer him.  “For lots of things,” she said, and her voice didn’t shake at all.

Will – _Spike_ was still watching her, his eyes assessing her as if for weaknesses, and he was so like William and so foreign all at once that her mind and heart just rebelled.  _I can’t,_ she thought, more than a little despairingly. _I just can’t be here anymore._   She forced some Slayer resolve into her legs, and tried to at least make it _look_ easy and nonchalant when she stood.  “I like the candles,” she said, feeling like she was about to choke.  “They make it kinda homey.”  Inside, she was already running, desperate to get away, but every motion was controlled as she headed for the door.  “See ya.”

She left the door open, not quite able to let it slam shut behind her, and only started to run once she was sure she was out of Spike’s sight.

Spike settled back into his slouch, frowning.  _Slayer’s actin’ strange,_ he thought, and ran his thumb over the neck of his bottle of bourbon.  _Wonder what that was all about?_   He shook his head – _never understand what that chit’s thinking_ – and waited to make sure she wasn’t going to come back.

When it seemed the Slayer really was going to leave him alone for the rest of the evening, he opened the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle.  Folded carefully against his palm was a length of green ribbon, worn and frayed by time and touch.  He’d found it in his waistcoat pocket after he’d risen.  He had thought at first to throw it away, not remembering how it had come to be there.  But, looking at it, in a dim half-memory, half-dream, he had seen green eyes laughing, swimming in sorrow, shining with something that could only be love, and he’d tucked it away again, careful not to let Dru see it.

Sometimes he thought about it, about the green-eyed girl who might have looked at him that way, but whenever he did, he just grew frustrated, because he couldn’t remember anything clearly.  He’d long ago decided that she never really existed, and if she did, she didn’t care about him that way.

Spike wasn’t quite sure why he’d felt the need to get out that old bit of ribbon tonight, but he had, and now he ran his fingers lightly down its still-silken length, seeing those dancing eyes once more.  After another moment, he shook his head.  Bending forward, he fished a small box from beneath the chair and tucked the ribbon carefully back inside.  “It’s just a dream, mate,” he told himself, as he had for more than a hundred years, and took a long pull from the bottle.  “Just a dream.”

***  
May 22, 2009


End file.
